Blazed
by chalupabatman
Summary: Hermione and Severus celebrate a holiday. Rated M for drug use. No lemons. AU, OOC, EWE, Sev lives.


**Blazed**

Hermione and Severus celebrate a holiday. Rated M for drug use. No lemons. AU, slightly OOC, Sev lives.

_AN: Just a little something I felt like jotting down. First and only fic. One-shot. I don't own anything._

_AN2: I also don't own "Hey You," that belongs to Pink Floyd and Columbia Records. The song they listen to at the end is "Maggot Brain" by Funkadelic, which I also do not own, but wish I did._

It had been a trying morning for one Miss Hermione Granger.

She had quite literally woken up on the wrong side of the bed, after a restless night of tossing and turning found her completely backwards, with her head where her feet should be and her feet propped on top of her pillows, and she hadn't the fortune to realize this fact before she lumbered out of bed, eyes still closed, and walked directly into the wall.

After spending the first half hour of her morning tending to two stubbed toes, a bloody nose and a bruised ego, she trudged to the staff room for the Mandatory Monday Morning Meeting, a new requirement instituted by the Headmistress and loathed by the majority of the Hogwarts faculty. Hermione didn't mind it though – in fact, she enjoyed being around most of her colleagues, and relished the small window of time she was able to experience them away from the eyes and ears of gossiping students. Also, the house elves supplied tea and scones.

"You look like hell," a low voice growled behind her as she poured herself some tea and grabbed a scone from the basket.

"Good morning Severus," she responded, rolling her eyes and turning away to take a seat at the long table in the center of the room. He followed her, of course, and took the seat next to her. She sighed.

"What do you want?" she meant to snap, but it came out as more of a whine.

"Just to enjoy the pleasure of your company on this fine April morning," he smirked, picking up her scone and taking a bite. He somehow managed to chew while _still smirking, the git_, and raised his eyebrows at her as if daring her to respond. She opted to glare at him instead, and turned back to her tea.

"Nasty today," Snape noted.

"You're one to talk," Hermione drawled.

"Touche. At least you're no longer on the receiving end of my ire."

That much was true, she admitted to herself. Upon arriving at her alma mater as the new Charms instructor, she had promised herself one thing: she would not be intimidated by Severus Snape.

It hadn't been easy. He had been downright horrible to her at the start. He had sneered at her, glared at her, gloated, smirked, snarled and spat. He had embarrassed her in front of her colleagues and her students. He'd undermined her authority. And, like a petulant child, he had called her names.

Know-it-all. Stupid. Insolent. Brown-noser. Princess. Plain. Obnoxious. Child. And once – only once – bitch.

That had been the last straw. It wasn't so much the word itself – it was a relatively harmless word, and frankly, she had been called much worse. But that it came from _him_ – someone who had, up until then, been in a position of authority over her, someone who had been entrusted with her care for seven years, and who had maintained a very professional (if you could call it that) relationship with her during that time. Someone she admired and respected. To hear that word coming out of his mouth, directed at her, dripping in malice…

She had snapped right back at him. She had felt victorious at the look of surprise that took over his face, then uneasy when she gleaned that it was mixed with a healthy dose of respect.

He had responded to her tirade, but not quite as loudly this time, and with a smirk gracing his angular features. In the following weeks he continued to call her names – his words never changed – but the delivery of them seemed to come with an asterisk. It hadn't taken long for Hermione to realize that he was, in his own way, teasing her, and that the hostility he put forth wasn't just a self-defense mechanism – it was also a challenge, and one that came with a hefty reward for those who overcame it. If you could keep up with Severus Snape, you earned the true pleasure of his company.

They formed a fast friendship. Once Severus decided to open up to you, it seemed, you were in for good. Late nights grading papers in each others' quarters turned into long research sessions in the library, which turned into lengthy discussions about the properties of graymold in healing potions, and eventually, his concession that she was, in fact, one of the most gifted students Hogwarts had seen in centuries and (an even more prized admission, in Hermione's view) that she possessed one of the most brilliant minds he had ever known.

He respected her opinion, he had told her, even valued it. He sought her consult during his brewing sessions, and read her notes. She had, of course, done work where it wasn't required of her, but Severus no longer derided her for her thoroughness. He praised her when she offered novel ideas and offered critique when it was needed. She learned more from him – and about him – than she had in her seven years as a student.

Their friendship eventually advanced beyond a strictly professional one. On occasion, after a lengthy brewing session, Severus would retreat into his quarters and emerge with a bottle of Ogden's or Blishen's and two glasses. Conversations over the drink ranged from childhood memories, to embarrassing stories, to hobbies, to sexual encounters. She learned that Severus had had an unhappy, but not abusive, childhood. She learned that he enjoyed reading, and chess, and running (early in the morning and away from the castle, far from prying eyes, of course). She learned that he was fluent in French and Portuguese. She learned that he had lost his virginity at 14, but had a horribly mortifying experience and didn't pursue sex again for three more years (although, he said, it was all uphill from there, and he seemed to have certainly made up for lost time).

She respected him. She enjoyed his company. And she was certainly no longer afraid of him.

So it was as Severus reached over to take another bite of her scone that she felt no apprehension at smacking his hand away and insisting he get his own.

"I don't want a whole one, I just want a few bites," he opined.

"Well I _do_ want a whole one, so bugger off."

"Testy," he exhaled, acting affronted. But the ex-spy could certainly take a hint. He cleared his throat before continuing. "I was able to look over your notes on the potential use of Aqua Fortis in Strengthening Solutions," he said, changing the subject. "It's certainly interesting, provided we could afford a solid gold cauldron to brew it in."

"I was thinking about exploring alternate materials," she explained. "Stone – granite or marble, something with excellent secondary permeability."

"Stone contains minerals that could react unfavorably when exposed to certain catalysts. When have you ever seen a stone cauldron?"

Before Hermione was able to respond, the Headmistress cleared her throat and began discussing the week's objectives. The following week was when the fifth years would be administrated their OWL exams, and tension was slightly higher than normal among the faculty, as their students' performance on the standardized exam weighed heavily into annual performance reviews.

The day passed by relatively uneventfully, and that evening found Hermione in her sweats, slumped over her desk revisiting her alternate-cauldron approach. Aqua fortis was highly corrosive, and while she stood by her theory that it could improve the potency of the already complex strengthening solution, it was often avoided by potioneers because of its unfortunate tendency to dissolve all metals it came into contact with, with only one exception: gold. Since most cauldrons were crafted out of iron, steel, copper, or pewter, the use of aqua fortis in any potion-making could spell disaster, and gold cauldrons sold for thousands of galleons and were only used in the most advanced professional laboratories.

She felt deflated after Snape's dismissal of stone as a cauldron material – she had been so sure of its advantages. But he was right, without knowing what minerals were present in a particular stone sample, it was impossible to predict how various ingredients would react. If only there were a way to prevent the stone from actually touching the potion, or to get gold for cheap…

Suddenly, she was awake. _That's it_, she realized. She needed to find Severus. It was only 8:45, he was sure to still be awake. Throwing on her outer robe, she half flew down the stairs on way to the dungeons. The halls were blessedly empty, as most students were in their dormitories or in the library studying. She entered the dungeons and made her way to the entrance to his quarters – she had come down here so many times now, she knew the way like the back of her hand – and rapped quickly on the door three times. And waited.

When there was no answer, she knocked again. Still nothing. She put her ear to the door and heard the faint sounds of music being played – a guitar chord, the beat of a drum. And a hint of an earthy smell – was he brewing? Curiosity got the best of her and she whispered his password – she prided herself on having earned that – and peeked in through the doorway.

The first thing that hit her was the music – he had obviously cast a silencing charm, because as soon as she poked her head through the doorway the volume of the music overwhelmed her. It was muggle music, and she recognized it – her father used to play it in the car when she was a child. She couldn't remember the band or the name of the song, but she had always particularly liked the line about itchy feet and fading smiles…however that part was long over, as the guitar wailed loud, hitting impossibly high notes she felt in the pit of her stomach.

The second thing she noticed was the smell – earthy, herbal, strong, but not at all unpleasant. She didn't recognize it. She looked around for the source – a cauldron or a boiling kettle – and saw nothing. The lights were dimmed and, save for the glass of water on the living room table, her view of which was mostly blocked by the large, green couch, it looked as if no one were home.

Disappointed, she was about to turn back and leave when the bathroom door opened and Severus stepped out. Merlin, he looked _exhausted_. It wasn't the clothes – she had seen him in casual attire before. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his jaw was slack, free of all the tension he usually held in it. He seemed slightly surprised to see her, and straightened when he noticed her in the doorway.

"Miss Granger."

She started. "Back to formalities now, are we?"

"Oh, right. My apologies."

She stared at him. He stared back. What was going on? Was he under some sort of spell?

"Severus, are you alright?"

"Absolutely. Are you?"

"What?"

"Nothing. Are you hungry? I was about to make pancakes."

"At nearly 9:00?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know."

"That's ridiculous."

"No it isn't. Pancakes are delicious."

"Severus, think about what you're doing for a minute."

He paused, and stared at her for what seemed like an impossibly long time. No, it didn't seem like it…it was. Finally, he snapped back, and a look of pure horror crossed his features.

"Oh no," he breathed.

"What is it?" she pressed. Hermione was instantly on guard. Who had cursed him? Was he here now? She instinctively reached for her wand.

He looked directly into her eyes, peering deep into her soul and for a moment, she caught her breath. Quietly, he spoke.

"I don't have blueberries."

Hermione couldn't help it – she burst out laughing. The kind of laughing where you clutch your ribcage and your sides hurt. And to her amazement, Snape began laughing too. He was grinning from ear to ear – she'd rarely seen him smile like that. His baritone laugh was timid, genuine, and deep.

"You can come in, you know," he offered. It was then that she realized she was still standing in the entryway.

"You can come out, you know," she rebutted, noting that he had not left the bathroom doorway.

"Oh," he muttered, and moved to sit on the couch, motioning for her to join him as he reached to pick something up off the table.

As she entered his quarters, she moved past the couch and saw what he was reaching for – a long, brown cigarette poking out of a crystal ashtray.

_Oh, Christ_, she thought, as it hit her why he looked so bloody exhausted. He lit the tip of his wand and pressed the flame to the end of the blunt, taking a long, deep inhale. He looked practiced, taking a few small hits in the same breath, holding the smoke in his lungs for a few seconds before _ever so slowly _letting it drift past his lips. The smoke swirled higher and higher, dancing on the wind of his breath before vanishing into the air. For a moment, Hermione thought it was beautiful. She snapped out of it when he turned towards her and made an offer.

"Would you like some?"

"No, thank you," she replied cautiously. She had always stayed far away from drugs – the thought of being out of control of herself terrified her, and she made sure to steer clear of all situations where illegal substances might be present.

"It would loosen you up a bit. You've had a rough day."

"I'm perfectly loose, thank you very much."

She realized what she had said before his eyebrows raised.

"Shut up," she snapped playfully, beating him to the punch. He merely smirked.

"Your loss," he said, taking another drag. "It's an international holiday, you have good reason to celebrate."

"And what holiday is that?" she challenged.

"Why, the 20th of April, of course."

_Ah_, thought Hermione, _now it makes sense_. She watched him as he took another toke, and as the guitar faded out into the distance he seemed to come back into focus. He waved his wand and the music stayed off. Leaning forward, he ashed the blunt and turned to face her.

"What brings you down here tonight?" he questioned.

"I was thinking about what you said earlier, about stone being unsuitable for a cauldron," she explained. "And then I had an idea – what if we lined the inside of a stone cauldron with gold? It would prevent any sediment from interacting with the solution, and a gold-plated cauldron would be significantly less expensive than a solid one."

He cocked his head slightly and appeared to think about it, before his eyes became distant and he became enraptured with a piece of art on the wall, a painting of the Slytherin crest.

"Severus," she hissed.

"Hmm?"

"Focus."

"Right. I don't really want to talk about this right now."

She blinked, affronted. "Fine, I'll leave."

Snape suddenly shifted into focus, eyes on her and gaze apologetic.

"No. Okay. I mean, fine. I will. Talk about it, I mean." He looked very unsure of himself, but perfectly at ease with his own confusion.

"Go on," she pressed.

He sat up straight, and she could see the gears turning in his brain. He was still in there, he was just a little out of it. Then, he spoke.

"A gold-plated cauldron could work, but it would have to cover the inside and the top, for drippage. The gold, I mean. It would have to cover everything on the inside, and the top, and the bottom. That way, the flame wouldn't hit it. Because the flame could ruin it because gold melts."

_What on earth…_Hermione nodded for him to continue, eager to see where his drug-induced brain would drift off to.

"I don't know if gold would melt in a regular flame, no, it wouldn't, because it's too low, of a temperature, I mean. Do you think we could try melting some gold? Not now, of course, but one day. We'll get some old jewelry and melt it with propane and then re-cast it – we could make literally anything we wanted out of gold for free. We could be rich. Am I making any sense?" He suddenly turned towards her. She stifled a laugh.

"Vaguely," she smiled. He seemed so relaxed, at ease, at peace…

She looked at the ashtray, and the blunt residing within it. He noticed.

"Change your mind?" he asked, the hope evident in his tone.

"Maybe just one hit."

"Go ahead," he offered, picking up the still-lit blunt and passing it to her.

"How do I do it?"

"Just breathe it in, hold it for a bit if you can, and exhale."

Hermione took a deep breath. _Woman-up, Granger_, she thought, and raised it to her lips.

Immediately, she began coughing. Not normal coughing, either – this _burned_. It wouldn't stop burning. Merlin, did people actually _enjoy_ this?

Severus chuckled darkly. "It takes a few hits to get used to," he said. "Do it again."

She did. This time, she knew what to expect, and took a quick drag without coughing. She wasn't able to hold it in, but she was proud of herself – she had done it.

"How do you feel?" Snape asked.

"The same," said Hermione. She was slightly disappointed.

"Some people don't get high their first time," he explained. "But you will. Go again. This time, inhale slowly. If it burns, stop pulling. It's better to hold in less smoke than to take a big hit and let it out quickly."

This time, Hermione did as she was instructed. She copied what she had seen him do earlier, taking three small hits in the same breath, bringing all the smoke into her lungs and holding her breath for a few seconds before letting herself exhale.

She had meant for the exhalation to be as graceful as Severus's own, and was preparing to see the swirls of smoke drift up and out of her mouth, when the burning sensation took over in her throat and she began coughing uncontrollably.

"Merlin," Hermione gasped, in between hacks. Severus took the blunt out from between her fingertips and replaced it with the glass of water on the table, which she accepted gratefully. She looked at him, and he was wearing a knowing smile.

"That should do it," he smirked. "Anything now?"

Hermione paused. She felt…light. How had she gotten into this? Why had she come down here to begin with? The gold-plated cauldron? That was a good idea, but very complex. Too many variables to think about right now. But there was a thread hanging off Severus's navy sweatshirt – a thick thread twisted in a manner that reminded her of a rope she used to swing on as a child. It had knots in it, and she would climb the knots to the top. She also had a bicycle…pink and purple with white tires. A flower basket. No one else had white tires. She had been proud of that, and she knew the other girls were jealous. Like she had been jealous of Denise Bauer's denim overalls with the pink stitching and gold clasps. _How silly_, she thought, _who gets jealous of overalls? Who even wears overalls?_ She giggled to herself. Then, Severus's voice brought her back down to earth.

"Where did you go?" he asked, a hint of a smile gracing his features as he puffed and passed. She immediately understood his question, but the back of her mind registered that sober Hermione would have probably been confused by his phrasing. By understanding him, she felt an odd sense of accomplishment.

"I remembered some things from my childhood," she explained. "Things I haven't thought about in years."

"It'll bring back memories long forgotten," Severus confirmed. Hermione took another drag. No coughing this time. She was getting good at this.

"What have you remembered?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "A tree," he said, simply.

"A tree?" she giggled.

"Yes, a tree," he said. "When I was very young, I used to go find this tree and read in it. It was right by the edge of the park. I'd go there as often as I could – it was my favorite reading spot – I suppose somewhere along the way I forgot it ever existed."

"And this," she said, holding up the half-smoked blunt to emphasize, "brought it back?"

He smiled, lost in thought. "Among other things."

They sat in silence for a while, after that. It wasn't awkward. In fact, if it weren't for the passing of the blunt, Hermione would have probably forgotten he was there. They were both blazed and exploring their own minds, the world outside long forgotten.

When all that was left was the roach, Severus put it out and turned to her.

"I want to show you something," he said, excited. "Lie down on the couch."

"Why?" she protested.

"Just do it. Trust me. Lie on your back and close your eyes."

Hermione laid down, stretching out across the long portion of the sectional sofa. Snape settled in on the other section, perpendicular to her. He waved his wand, and soft music began to fill the room.

"Close your eyes, and listen."

Hermione listened. At first, the notes were distant and low, a stuttering drum beat seeming to move from one side of the room to the other. Then, a lone guitar sang a sad, slow, song – a wail of lost love and crazed longing. It was soon joined by a second guitar playing it's own lamentful solo, and Hermione felt tears come to her eyes as she imagined two lovers torn apart by…something. What was keeping them apart? There was so much passion between them, they were two parts of a whole, why couldn't they be together? As the notes twisted together, higher, louder, she realized she was crying – tears were streaming down her face. She hadn't realized how much tension she had been holding in – it was pouring out her now, dripping onto her shirt, and a wave of intense relief washed over her. This was magical. It was healing. She felt incredible.

A brief playful interlude began, a memory of what had once been, and it ended as quickly as it began. Suddenly, the lovers were screaming – they couldn't bear it anymore. Hermione didn't know what to do, how could she help them? She felt their pain in her body, in her soul. She was seeing things – behind her closed eyelids, the universe seemed to expand before her as she left earth and traveled into dimensions unknown. Space and time were arbitrary – the universe was a circle and the beginning of time was the end of time. She reached the end of space. She could see further than any man had seen before. She approached the edge of the universe, and touched it. She gasped. _It was a curtain_. What was beyond the curtain? What could possibly lie beyond the universe? She reached out to lift it. The song ended.

Hermione opened her eyes. For a moment, she forgot where she was. She saw Severus and smiled.

"Well?" he prompted, tucking a piece of black hair behind his ear.

Hermione was at a loss for words, and told him as much. He grinned. 

"Everything is more intense," he explained.

"What else do you like to do?"

He examined her for a moment, before responding. "Eat, bathe, the simple things that engage the senses but don't require much thought. Like what you're doing with your hands right now."

She looked down and noticed that she had been rubbing her hands up and down her thighs, enjoying the feel of the cotton fabric of her sweatpants against her palms. She had the grace to be embarrassed.

"Sorry, I didn't notice. It felt really good."

"Everything feels really good," he said, looking pointedly at her, "if you get my drift. If you ever decide to do this on your own time, I suggest you consider engaging in certain…activities."

She perked up. "Really?"

His eyes glinted and a slow smile spread across his face as he leaned forward. "Unbelievable."

She couldn't look away from his piercing black eyes.

He was picking up a bag and pulling more of the herb out, but this time he pulled out a small glass pipe from a drawer in the table. Packing the bowl, he looked at her.

"You're welcome to have some of this, but I think you've had enough," he hinted.

"Yes, I would agree," Hermione replied. "This is wonderful, though. Why do people hate it so much?"

"I ask myself that every time I light up."

"How often do you…indulge?"

He huffed, lighting the pipe. "On occasion, I see nothing wrong with it. I use to relax after particularly…stressful days. Sometimes I need a little help unwinding."

She chuckled.

"I'm exhausted," she suddenly realized. "I should get going."

"You're not going anywhere," Snape interjected. "You're high as a kite and you're new at this. I don't want you getting lost and passing out in a corridor."

She looked at him quizzically.

"I'll make up the bed for you," he continued. "I'll sleep on the couch."

"You don't have to," Hermione protested. "I can—"

"Nonsense," he cut her off, padding slowly into the bedroom. A few minutes later, he emerged.

"Go to bed," he said. "We'll discuss your silly cauldrons in the morning."

She smiled.

"Thank you," she said, truthfully. "That was very enjoyable."

"I'm glad," he said, stretching out on the sofa. "Sleep well, Hermione."

"Goodnight, Severus."

As Hermione lay in bed, her last thoughts before drifting off to sleep were of silver smoke, black eyes and star-covered curtains…


End file.
